


oops, my baby, you woke up in my bed

by avoidantsumiki



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidantsumiki/pseuds/avoidantsumiki
Summary: It goes on like that, waking up some mornings to breakfast with your family, and, others, to Hisoka’s hair mussed by sleep, to teasing comments and affectionate nicknames, to a long walk up the mountain and a family who knows exactly where you were.You always wonder, in the morning, how you got there, andwhy. But the question is always answered, a few days to a week later, by the fire in Hisoka’s eyes after a kill, by the feeling of his hands on your torso, by the way he kicks out a heel and calls youdarling.





	oops, my baby, you woke up in my bed

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song oops by little mix
> 
> cranked this out in a day and it could use so much more editing but please. please take it off my hands

You wake up, look to the right of you, and sigh.

It’s the third time this month.

As you exit the bed, he wakes, blinking narrow eyes and turning over to face the ceiling. He’d been facing you, before, face peaceful in sleep, eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks.

“Good morning,” Hisoka says, teasing, open.

You offer no reply, picking up a singlet and pants from the floor, discarded in a hurry the previous night, and begin to dress yourself.

“Seems a shame to cover all that up,” he says lightly.

“Oh,” you say. “Would you rather I walk around my family home wearing nothing?”

He sighs, crumpling in exasperation, head hitting the mattress with a soft thump. “Fish in the sea, they say!” He cries. “And yet I keep trying to talk to a brick wall.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, and he smiles.

“But such a pretty brick wall,” he says, and beckons you.

You go to him, fully dressed now, and he fists a hand in your singlet, pulls you down to kiss you. You let him. _My love_ , he’d called you last night, just casually. Like it was nothing, like it was known. You bite his tongue, and he retracts it, effectively truncating the kiss.

You approach the door with trepidation, put an ear to the gap between the door proper and its frame. It’s still early. Maybe they’re still asleep.

No luck. You hear noises from the kitchen, Mother giving someone, probably Milluki, an earful. You wrinkle your nose.

“They’re awake,” you say to Hisoka.

“Hmm,” he replies, unhelpfully. “Interesting bind we’re in. It seems almost as if we should just stay in here the whole day.” He closes his eyes and stretches his arms out, a smile on his face as if the thought is bliss.

“I have work,” you say.

“Your work is flexible,” Hisoka says, flippant. “And so are you,” he adds, a little less nonchalant.

You shoot him a _look_. “I will push you out of that window myself.”

“Oh!” He says, joy on his face. “So you want _me_ to walk around your family home wearing nothing!”

You put a hand to your forehead in consternation. “Leave, Hisoka. Get dressed and leave.”

He pouts, but quickly recovers, with a look of dawning pleasure on his face. “You said my name,” he says. “I love it when you say my name.”

You look away from him, something indescribable tumbling around in your stomach.

He gets dressed, which is an entire affair. Corset, which he begs for your help in lacing up even though you _know_ he can do it himself, undershirt, vest, pants, carefully cinched and puffed up _just_ the right amount, shoes with a frankly impressive heel, and, finally, the armbands. He even pulls out a compact mirror and powders his nose.

He looks to you, as if asking if he looks okay.

You don’t let your eyes trail over him for long before you give a short nod and gesture towards the window.

He stalks towards you, heels not making a sound on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, and you wait, expecting another kiss, maybe just a touch. Instead, when he reaches you, he smiles, and darts, quick as lightning, towards the door.

“Fuck,” you say, wild, panicked, and chase after him.

He laughs as he sails down the stairs, greets your seemingly speechless mother in the kitchen as _Mrs Zoldyck_ , and even manages to wave cheekily at Milluki and Kalluto, both wide-eyed, before you grab him by his terrible hair and drag him towards the exit.

“Illumi!” He cries, righting himself with a few strands of hair lost in the process. “Do warn me next time.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, pushing him with both hands towards the double doors marking the official (but by no means most used) entrance to the Zoldyck home. He goes willingly, but not without his endless chatter.

When you finally get him outside, the door closing like a blessing behind you, he smiles, sharp and expectant.

You put a hand to his face, brushing away hair, and run a thumb down his nose, gathering makeup. He makes a face.

“You’re messing up my _image_.”

“And what would you call that in there?” You nod towards the house.

He grins. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Then I will have fun too, if I please,” you say, without thinking, and kiss him, feeling his soft lips on yours, his hand gripping your waist. “Goodbye,” you say, after breaking away, and it was meant to be firm, a boundary, but it comes out gentle, as if you’re already thinking about the next time you’ll see each other. But you’re not. You’d be perfectly happy, you think, if you never saw him again.

He smiles back at you. “Goodbye, Illumi,” he says, and then, as if reading your mind, “I’ll see you again soon!”

And he’s gone, hips swaying as he makes the trek down the mountain to the testing gates.

You only stare after him for... maybe a minute. It’s less than last time, anyway.

*

Your mother is displeased. She cries, yells things you already know - the family comes first, the family is the most important thing, you can’t compromise on perfection. You reassure her, tell her that you feel nothing for him, that you would kill him in an instant if she asked, say all the things a perfect son would say.

Kalluto, though, manages to be even worse than the tears of your mother. They simply walk up to you, after Mother’s gone upstairs to lie down, and ask, “Are you in love with him, Illuni?”

You look at them, frowning. “Of course not, Kalluto,” you reply. “That would be...”

You find you can’t finish the sentence, and walk away.

*

You come back from a job, some smuggler looking to remove competition, and your father is waiting for you just inside the testing gates.

“Walk with me,” he says, and so you do.

It’s a silent walk for a while, just the barely-there sound of your footsteps and his, and then, unfortunately, he speaks.

“Your mother told me about what happened this morning,” he says, and you wince. “What is your relationship with... Hisoka, is it?”

He knows who Hisoka is. He’s got a file, that you’ve seen, with everything he knows about him. It’s marked _high threat level_.

“Unknown,” you say. “Business, mostly. He assists me, I assist him. Professionally.”

“Mostly?” Father asks.

“Mostly,” you respond.

“I see,” he says. “I want you to keep it professional, Illumi. No more _mostly_.”

“Yes, Father,” you say, and that feeling in your stomach is back, like a washing machine spinning this way and then the other.

“No more clowns in my house,” your father impresses, and speeds up, leaving you to walk alone in the forested night.

You wonder, as you walk. Wonder why that washing machine feeling in your gut is there at all, what it means. Wonder what it would be like, to kill Hisoka. The churning intensifies.

He’s never wanted to fight you. Usually, when he doesn’t want to fight someone, it means they’re not good enough, not enough of a challenge. You know, with no trace of self-importance, that you would present a challenge. It would be fun, for him. So why has he never made that proposition?

You remember, all of a sudden, that Hisoka was never interested in fighting Machi, either.

Then you leave that thought alone.

There will be no more clowns in the Zoldyck mansion, you decide. You’ll stop, you’ll keep it professional, you will no longer wake up to the sight of Hisoka’s eyelashes.

*

You wake in an unfamiliar room.

You look to one side. Nothing but an end table, a wardrobe.

You can sense what will be to the other side by the smell. Makeup, hairspray, a little facepaint. You know, by now, what Hisoka smells like.

Sure enough, when you look, he’s boring golden eyes straight back into your own.

“Morning, dear Illumi,” he says.

“I hate you,” you reply.

It goes on like that, waking up some mornings to breakfast with your family, and, others, to Hisoka’s hair mussed by sleep, to teasing comments and affectionate nicknames, to a long walk up the mountain and a family who knows exactly where you were.

At least, at _least_ , you no longer bring Hisoka to your home.

You always wonder, in the morning, how you got there, and why. But the question is always answered, a few days to a week later, by the fire in Hisoka’s eyes after a kill, by the feeling of his hands on your torso, by the way he kicks out a heel and calls you _darling_.

It’s one of those other nights, though, that he says it. You’re at a bar, and it’s not a drink after a job, it’s not relaxing after hard work, it’s just... the two of you, spending time together. He’s in a good mood, extending his hand across the table to touch yours, laughing when you backtalk to him, sipping his wine like he’s in some kind of rush.

“Come back to mine,” he says, as the two of you stand outside, Hisoka smoking a cigarette. He blows smoke in your face, and you shrug.

“Alright,” you say, and take his cigarette from him, watching very closely the look on his face as you put your lips where his had just been, and breathe in.

He’s excitable, babbling in the elevator, down the hallway. When you cross the threshold to his hotel room, however, he goes silent, planting his hands on the kitchenette’s counter and pursing his lips.

You wait.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” he decides, and turns to you. “Illumi, we’ve known each other a long time.”

“Correct,” you say.

He looks at you, just looks at you, for a long time. He takes a step towards you.

“We’re good friends, aren’t we?” He says, his tone that familiar sultry one, but with a hint of something else behind it.

“We have a functional relationship,” you allow, and wonder what kind of game he’s playing now.

When he gets close, breath on your cheek, eyes locked with yours, so little space between you and yet no contact, you decide to play a little yourself. It might be the wine that makes you say it. “You’ve never wanted to fight me.”

He blinks, wide-eyed. “I didn’t know you noticed,” he says, seemingly taken aback.

“I am an assassin,” you remind him. “I have to notice things.”

“Especially about your favourite magician, right?” He smiles, and reaches out a hand to hold your cheek. “I’ll never want to fight you, Illumi,” he says seriously.

The washing machine in your stomach is set to _powerful_. “Why?” You ask, unsure if you want to know.

“Because I am in love with you,” he says simply, and you take a step back.

He freezes, hand still in the air.

“Love is for others,” you say. “Love is for ordinary people.”

“And you are extraordinary,” he says, with an air of defeat.

“As are you,” you say, and leave, taking the now-familiar route down hallways and elevators and sidewalks to the mountain standing above it all.

It occurs to you that it’s a little odd, that he got a hotel room in the city nearest your house.

Maybe that’s what people who are _in love_ do.

*

When you wake the next morning, you know he’s not there before even opening your eyes. No smell of hairspray, no feeling of a washing machine churning away inside you.

Instead, you feel disappointment. Loneliness.

*

“I have a request,” you say.

Your father does not turn to look at you. “Money or work?”

“Clowns,” you say, and now he does turn.

“Hisoka?” He says, and you nod.

“I want a non-business relationship,” you say. “My request is for your blessing.”

“With _the clown_? Why?”

 _Why_? You think about it. “He calls me darling,” you say, in the end.

Your father holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. You won’t bring him to the house?”

You frown. “I would like to introduce him.”

“I’ll rephrase. You won’t bring him to the house for _non-business_ reasons?”

Oh. “No,” you say.

Your father sighs. “Alright. Do whatever you like.”

“I have your blessing?”

“Yes.”

You feel lighter than you have in months. “Thank you, Father.”

*

He wouldn’t still be in Padokea. You know this, and yet your feet still carry you towards his hotel, into the elevator and down the hallway.

 _409_ , the numbers on the door read. It’s the right room. Will the right person be inside?

You knock.

He answers, looking tired. “Illumi. You couldn’t have called?”

“No,” you say, shouldering past him and into the room. “We have something to discuss.”

“I didn’t think you had anything more to say to me,” Hisoka says. “You left rather suddenly, the other day.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes. If we got married, would you change your name?”

“If we- what?”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes, probably, if you asked me to. Did I miss something?” He inquires, looking half ready to play along, half ready to kick you out.

“Would you ever fight a member of my family?”

“Yes. I’ve told you this. What’s going on?”

“That’s a problem,” you say.

“Why?” He asks, sweeping his hands out in frustration.

“If we’re going to have a non-business relationship,” you say, “I need to know my family will be safe.”

“I thought-“

“I like it when you call me darling. And dear. And your love.” You clear your throat. “I like the smell of hairspray in the morning.”

He grins, slow and winning. “You know, _my love_ ,” he says, pronouncing it carefully, deliberately, “I’ve suddenly had a change of heart about fighting Zoldycks.”

“Do you promise?” You press.

He holds up his pinky finger wordlessly. You clasp it with your own, shake, and he pulls you in to kiss you, gentle, fond.

He laughs into the kiss. “I should have known you were scared,” he says, all of his confidence returned to him. You hadn’t realised you had such power as to take it away. “My Illumi, scared to have feelings like all the _ordinary_ people.”

You roll your eyes. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“You did!” He says. “You did, you did.”

He smiles at you, a little softer than his usual smile.

You stretch your face out, move your mouth in unfamiliar ways, to smile back.

He just laughs at you.

*

The hotel room is familiar now, the ceiling’s pattern a well-worn path.

So, too, is what you see as you open your eyes – Hisoka, beside you, hair falling apart, face clean of makeup and/or facepaint.

He sits up, resting his chin on his hands, elbows digging into the mattress. “Good morning, darling,” he says. “Did you sleep well?”

You hum in confirmation. “You?”

“Better for having you with me,” he grins.

You raise an eyebrow, but, honestly, you feel the same, and always have.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!
> 
> would the zoldycks ever give illu permission to date anyone? no. would illu ever date someone of his own initiative? probably not. do i care? not one bit


End file.
